


Through the Looking Glass

by ifitwasribald



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen, angsty porn, dubcon, porn with minimal plot, so much dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is dosed with sex pollen.  Bruce tries to do the right thing.  But in the end, it's not that easy to know what the right thing is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Looking Glass

“Dr. Banner, you are required on the helipad immediately.” The AI actually sounded worried, and that was somehow more alarming than the enigmatic summons itself.

Less than a minute later Bruce stepped out onto the roof to find Natasha at the controls of the waiting helicopter. When he reached it, “get in,” was all she said.

Bruce froze--whatever was going on, it was probably safer for him to find out when he wasn’t airborne in a small vehicle with Natasha.

Natasha saw his hesitation. “Tony’s been exposed to something. We don’t know what yet. Pym is on it but he needs your help. Now get in.”

He got in.

Natasha filled him in with what little she knew, shouting over the noise. There’d been an explosion in the lab of the mad scientist _du jour_ , and Tony had been the one to go in because his suit should have protected against whatever was inside. Things had seemingly gone OK, and he’d been halfway home when J.A.R.V.I.S.’s sensors started to indicate that something was wrong. The others had persuaded him to submit to an examination at a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility on Long Island, and that was where Bruce and Natasha were headed now.

There was no time for more details before they landed. The moment they disembarked, Natasha escorted him straight to a small office in the basement of the building. She opened the door and motioned for Bruce to precede her.

Bruce stepped towards the door, but stopped dead before crossing the threshold, his chest tight. Two chairs, one computer, a second door. Nothing out of the ordinary at all except for a large picture window that took up most of one wall. Through the glass Bruce could see a large, brightly lit room, all white except for a figure in blue scrubs.

Bruce turned abruptly and slammed one fist into the doorframe. "This was not a good idea," he gritted out. Natasha's flinch brought him back to himself and he closed his eyes, focusing on a long breath in, a long breath out, twice, three times, before he felt capable of dealing with the world again.

Natasha was watching him when he opened his eyes, but she didn't speak.

"Why does he need to be... in there?"

"Unknown chemical, erratic behavior, you know the drill.”

Bruce let out a long breath. “Yeah, ok, why do _I_ have to be in there?”

"Because you’re a doctor and a genius and he needs to be monitored. And because you know how it feels to be on the other side.”

“And no one here is worried that I’m going to have a flashback and smash up the place with Tony in it?”

“I’m not. And Tony’s not. He asked for you.”

Bruce deflated, all his objections trumped by four simple words. “Ok. What do we know so far?”

Natasha shrugged. “I left before Pym had much by way of results. He’ll have sent everything he’s got to the display. But... it’s definitely something… mood altering, or...” She trailed off.

And Natasha at a loss for words, that was possibly scarier than a worried AI. 

Bruce nodded, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold of the observation room, keeping his focus on the computer display. Natasha didn’t follow, instead calling after him: “I’ll be upstairs. The coms are off but J.A.R.V.I.S. was imported in, and he can get me on the line if you need me.”

Bruce looked back at her and gave another nod as she closed the door. He tried to turn his gaze back to the computer, but was drawn to Tony instead.

The man was flushed, an angry red in sharp contrast with the washed out white of the room. His hands were behind his head, not bound there, but threaded through his hair, his forearms pressed against his temples and hiding his face. He was wearing scrubs--probably his own clothes were being washed in seven kinds of decontaminants. And the scrubs... well, they left very little to the imagination. Which meant that Bruce definitely did not have to imagine Tony’s cock jutting out and up under the thin fabric.

Bruce took another deep breath, for a very different reason this time, and focused his attention on the computer.

The top half of the screen displayed Tony’s vitals. Blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, respiratory rate, all elevated.

The other half showed Pym’s data on the chemical. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Bruce swallow very hard. Hormone stimulation, something similar to gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, and some other stuff Pym hadn’t been able to classify yet. Bottom line, extreme arousal, lowered inhibitions, ultimate prognosis unknown.

On the upside, Bruce wasn’t all that worried about the particular configuration of the room any longer. Except that he should be, because Tony was on the other side of the glass, probably infuriatingly cut off from any information about what was going on. That, in Bruce's experience, was the worst part about rooms like these.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Bruce asked, uncertain if the AI interface would be running in the room.

“Here, sir.”

“Open the com to Tony’s room.”

“Yes sir.”

Suddenly Bruce could hear ragged breathing and the sounds of footsteps as Tony paced.

“Tony, I’m here. Natasha said... she said you asked for me.”

Tony stopped and turned to face the window, looking straight at it, but not at Bruce. Of course, he couldn’t see Bruce, could only look at his own reflection.

There was a way to turn off one way glass, but Bruce couldn’t remember it, couldn’t think of anything except Tony Stark, his gorgeous, sultry eyes, his muscular arms, and--holy hell--his cock, painfully obvious under his scrubs, with a little dark patch where the fabric was wet with precum.

“Bruce! Just the man I wanted to see. Get in here and fuck me.”

Bruce swallowed again and tried to remember how to breathe. It was no leap at all to imagine Tony bent over, his pants around his ankles, moaning as Bruce pressed his cock into the tight heat of Tony’s ass. And, well, possibly Bruce had had some practice on that particular image anyway, which was one of an increasing number of reasons that he was absolutely the wrong man to be watching Tony right now.

“Bruce? Tell me you can hear me." Tony's voice was strained.

Bruce had to take a long breath and let it out before he could answer. “I can hear you. How are you feeling?”

Tony’s hands tightened in his hair, and he too took a deep breath before speaking in an exaggeratedly clinical tone. “Heart rate elevated, skin flushed, pupils slightly dilated. And really in need of being fucked against the nearest wall.”

Bruce somehow managed to ignore that. “Priapism?” he suggested.

“Priapism is characterized by a lack of physical or psychological stimulation," Tony chided. "I may be lacking in the physical stimulation department, and thanks for that, but definitely no lack of mental stimulation. Like your fingers--have I ever told you how gorgeous your fingers are when you’re working? Because right now I can almost feel them inside me, working me open..." Tony's eyes closed and one hand released his hair, drifting down to his waist to palm his erection. 

Bruce wasn't sure what he should do. No, that wasn't quite right. He knew he should look away, that there was no clinical reason to keep his eyes fixed on Tony's hand, but all his self control had deserted him, and he wasn't sure he could avert his eyes.

Tony rubbed a thumb along himself through the thin cotton, but a heartbeat later snatched his hand away, returning it to the back of his head.

"I can give you some privacy," Bruce offered. "I'll turn away and mute the com until... Until you tell J.A.R.V.I.S. to open it again."

"J.A.R.V.I.S. can't hear me."

Of course. No use quarantining someone for erratic behavior and then giving him access to an AI that could open every door in the place. Bruce resisted the urge to punch the wall or do something much, much worse. "Anyway, this isn't modesty, Big Guy. I'd give you a show if I could."

"It doesn't work to... um..."

"Jerk off? No. And I have definitely given it the old college try. Which is why I so very much need your cock in my ass. Please, Bruce,” and suddenly Tony’s voice took on a plaintive quality that Bruce had never heard from him, “it would be so good. I could make it so good for you.”

Of that, Bruce had absolutely no doubt. His own cock was throbbing, pressed painfully against his trousers, and it was everything he could do not to reach in and stroke himself. Or, worse, step through the doors that separated the two rooms and give Tony what he’d asked for. It would be so sweet to bend him over, work him open while that gorgeous mouth of his begged for more, slam into him and fuck him six ways to Sunday while he writhed under every stroke.

But he couldn’t. “You’re drugged. I’m not going to take advantage of that.”

“ _Take advantage_ ,” Tony scoffed. “I’m not a drunk co-ed. I want you.”

Bruce didn't trust himself to answer that.

"Do I at least get to see you? This whole talking-to-a-mirror thing..." Tony trailed off, but Bruce could fill in the blanks. Even when you knew for a fact that there was someone behind it, talking to a mirror was disconcerting. He looked around the room for a switch and flipped it, cursing himself for not doing it sooner.

The lights brightened, and Tony's head turned to look right at Bruce, his eyes appraising, challenging, wanting. "Much better," he approved. He took another step towards the window, just far enough now not to fog the glass with his breath. "I want you," Tony repeated. "I want your hands on me, all over me. Want you to grab me, take me every way you want. Any way at all. Please.” 

Bruce's cock jerked in response, and he firmly reminded himself that this was the drug talking, not Tony. It wasn't real. But God it felt real. He couldn't help but look into Tony's eyes and believe that the other man knew exactly what he was saying and meant every word. 

Bruce brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. This Tony might be asking for it, but the Tony of tomorrow would regret it. And if he was willing to take advantage of Tony's intoxication, and God forgive him but he might be, his selfish desire to preserve their friendship would have to be enough to keep him in line.

"Bruce," Tony called, voice low and just a little rough in a way that immediately claimed Bruce's full attention. “Please. I need it. I need to--” Tony didn’t finish the sentence, instead bringing a hand down to his cock again. But this time it stayed there, pulling his prick out of the thin scrubs and gripping it firmly, eyes closing, face upturned. He gave himself a few strokes and then groaned in frustration. “Fuck. Fuck me. Damnit. Can I at least get some lube in here?”

“Right. Yes. I’m sure...” Bruce looked around the room, relieved and frantic at the same time to have something concrete he could do about the situation. “J.A.R.V.I.S., can you find out if there is any... personal lubricant... in the building?”

“I will relay the request to Agent Romanov.”

And Bruce wasn’t sure if Tony’s anguished look was impatience or embarrassment at involving Natasha. Or maybe just the frustration of his continued arousal.

A glance to the computer screen told him that Tony’s heart rate and blood pressure, already well above normal, were steadily rising.

“It shouldn’t be long.”

“You could suck me,” Tony suggested. “God, I can just imagine it, you down on your knees. Your lips would look so good around me, your tongue-- oh, God, your tongue. I bet you like giving head.”

Bruce managed not to moan his agreement, but it was a near thing, and Tony obviously read the lust in his expression.

“You do. God, that’s hot. You’d be an amazing cocksucker. I want your throat around me. Just a blow job--that wouldn't be taking advantage,” Tony wheedled.

But the way that Bruce’s cock twitched at Tony’s words reminded him that it would hardly be selfless. “Ask me again when you’re not drugged out of your skull.” Bruce wondered if he would. Probably not--he’d never suggested it before. Flirted, sure, but flirting was Tony’s default method of communication.

Some traitorous part of Bruce’s brain told him that he was giving up on his one chance to feel Tony’s cock between his lips, to do all the things he’d imagined so many times. Well, that was true enough, not that it mattered. Not that it could matter.

There was a discreet knock. By the time Bruce opened the door, no one was visible, but a cardboard box waited for him. He picked it up and looked inside to confirm that it contained lube. It did. In fact it contained eleven separate bottles of various types, and seriously, was this just in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s supply room? Probably it was better not to think about it.

Bruce passed the box into the chamber, closing the doors firmly before he could give into temptation.

“Nice. S.H.I.E.L.D. knows how to stock up.” Bruce watched, helpless to look away, as Tony coated his hand with lube and fisted himself again, eyes squeezed shut. “Better, definitely better. Not as good as your mouth would be, but, oh, God.” Tony stroked himself hard and fast, no elegant technique there, just raw need. After a few minutes of that, during which time Bruce barely blinked, Tony groaned again in frustration. Without pausing his right hand, he pushed his scrubs down around his knees, coat his left hand in the lubricant, and reached around to finger himself, circling his entrance before pressing in.

Bruce moaned audibly, and could only hope that the noise was drowned out by the short little groans coming out of Tony’s mouth. Bruce’s hand slipped into his pants as if of its own accord as he watched Tony awkwardly fuck himself with one finger, and then two, as his hand worked on his cock. Tony moaned out desperate little noises and twisted, trying to get his fingers deeper. It was as if he’d forgotten Bruce was even there, or that he was even being watched at all. Like nothing mattered at that moment except his hands on and inside himself.

It was, bar none, the hottest thing that Bruce had ever seen in his life.

J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice startled his hand out of his lap and his eyes back to the computer screen. "Dr. Pym has relayed additional findings for your immediate attention."

Bruce turned his attention to the screen immediately. There were only a few additional lines to the report. Some offered technical analysis which Bruce knew he ought to try harder to focus on, but the final line was all he could look at. "Prognosis remains uncertain. Fatality appears unlikely but is possible. Preliminary tests suggest sexual climax likely to provide temporary relief and may retard progression of chemical effects.”

_Fatality appears unlikely but is possible._ Bruce blanched, eyes suddenly fixed on the screen instead of Tony’s obscene display.

Bruce stood, and the motion startled Tony to stillness, his gaze suddenly locked onto Bruce. “Bad news, Doc?” Tony's tone was carefully nonchalant.

Bruce knew he owed to to the man on the other side of the glass to be straight with him. It’s what he would have wanted--what he had wanted--when he’d been on that side. “We still don’t know. But... nothing’s ruled out.” Fuck, that was about as far from straight as _he_ was right now.

In any case it was clear that Tony knew what he meant, because the other man slammed a fist into the shatterproof glass. “Please. I need-- I need you. I can feel it.”

Bruce was on the other side of the doors before he could think. And, yeah, he was definitely destined for a very special hell. But for that moment, he had a reason--or at least an excuse--to do precisely what he wanted, and nothing else mattered.

When Bruce met Tony’s eyes again, the other man looked almost stunned. Like he hadn’t expected Bruce to actually cross over. And before he could recover, Bruce was down on his knees.

Bruce reached out to grasp Tony’s hips, but pulled back just before he made contact. “Are you... sure? Do you want this?” It wasn’t good enough, for so many reasons, but it was a balm to Bruce’s conscience anyway when Tony breathed “God yes.”

Bruce leaned forward again, taking the head of Tony’s cock into his mouth and circling the crown with his tongue. There was a minty tingle, and Bruce realized that Tony must have selected one of the edible lubricants. And fuck, even in this state the man could plan ahead.

Bruce let his tongue dance around Tony’s prick, seeking out sensitive spots. Tony threaded a hand into Bruce’s hair and pulled, and Bruce got the message. This wasn’t the time for subtlety. Bruce bobbed forward, feeling Tony's cock brush against the roof of his mouth. He carefully angled his neck, relaxing his muscles, opening himself, until the swollen head pressed into the back of his throat. Bruce moaned. God it was good, feeling filled, invaded like that. His throat tingled with a hint of his gag reflex, so easy for him to suppress that the sensation was almost pleasurable. 

Tony was making a series of strangled noises that steadily rose in pitch until they became a distinct whine. Bruce pulled back, taking a long breath without moving his lips from their snug fit around Tony’s girth, and then pressed forward again. 

Tony gasped, fingers tightening in Bruce’s hair, and his hips jerked forward, pressing himself harder into the back of Bruce’s throat. Bruce moaned in encouragement, and it was like a dam breaking, because suddenly Tony was thrusting erratically into Bruce’s mouth, using his hand in Bruce’s hair as leverage.

Bruce concentrated on keeping himself open for Tony, groaning desperately around the thick cock as it pushed into him again and again. It was all Bruce could do to keep his hands off his own cock, which throbbed painfully. With the noises Tony was making he would be lucky if he didn’t come in his pants like a teenager anyway.

Tony’s whine turned into a moan, and the moan turned into a wordless shout as his cock pulsed. His hand in Bruce’s hair maintained a firm pressure, and Bruce breathed in the musk of the dark thatch of Tony’s hair as he felt hot, bitter seed fill his throat.

Tony pulled away, slowly, and Bruce gently licked and sucked Tony’s cock clean as it left his mouth.

“Oh fuck," Tony managed, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Jesus, Bruce. Goddamn.”

Bruce gave one final kiss to the head as he sat back on his heels and looked up.

Tony was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his face still flushed and his hair tousled and damp. His eyes were lidded, and Bruce had always thought that Tony’s picture should be in the dictionary next to the entry for “bedroom eyes,” but now he realized that he hadn’t known the half of it.

Bruce shook his head, trying to bring himself back to the moment. It was Tony’s health he should be worried about now, not his-- nevermind. No good could come of that train of thought.

“Vitals?” Bruce meant to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. but remembered that the AI wouldn’t respond to requests from this side of the glass. 

Tony responded instead. “Little closer to normal. But--” he looked down, and Bruce followed his gaze to Tony’s cock, which was already stirring again, “--rising.”

Bruce meant to groan at the double entendre, but if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit that the groan wasn’t for the joke.

“I need more. Bruce, please. I need you in me.” Tony grabbed Bruce’s forearm and pulled him up into a tight embrace. And then Tony was kissing him, the rough beard scratching against his face as their mouths pressed together. Tony’s tongue pushed into him, tasting himself in Bruce’s mouth. One of Tony’s hands landed on Bruce’s ass and pulled him close, hips to hips. Bruce felt Tony’s cock brush against his own and he had to pull back and think of the other guy to keep himself from spilling right then.

Maybe he should resist--if the first attempt hadn’t worked, was it really realistic to think another would? But the truth of it, the truth that damned him, was that he didn’t care. Whether Tony really needed it or not, whether the invitation was from Tony’s true self or just the drugs, Bruce wanted so badly to be inside him that every other thought vanished from his mind.

“Yes. God yes. Please.”

Tony moaned, and Bruce broke away, practically lunging for the box with the lube and silently praying that it contained condoms as well. It did, and he rolled one on with shaking hands while Tony knelt on the cot in the corner and leaned forward to support himself on his forearms, his gorgeous ass in the air.

Bruce took a moment to just breathe, admiring a view that he knew he’d never forget. When Tony groaned in protest, Bruce crossed the room in three steps and gripped Tony’s hip firmly with one hand. He dipped an experimental finger into Tony’s opening, massaging the ring of muscle before pushing deeper, exploring for just the right spot. Tony’s gasp of “yesohyesthereyesBruceoh,” told him he’d found it. Bruce pressed in two more fingers, and they slid in easily, the new lubrication on Bruce’s fingers joining what Tony had applied earlier.

“More, Bruce, please. I need it now. I can’t wait, I can’t--”

And Bruce wasn’t about to wait any longer either. He pulled his fingers and out and lined himself up, gently pressing the head of his cock against Tony’s entrance. “Ohohohgod,” he whispered, or moaned or whined maybe. He didn’t know, couldn’t think, could register only the exquisite sensation of Tony Stark’s hot tight ass opening for the head of his cock. He felt the tight ring of muscle on every inch, every centimeter, every millimeter of his cock as he pressed in. He felt his balls tighten, and oh God this was going to be over way too soon.

Tony groaned in frustration and Bruce turned his attention to the immensely pleasurable task at hand. He pulled back and pushed in again, carefully angling the thrust to glance against just the right spot. He was rewarded with a hoarse moan, and repeated the motion, thrusting deep and hard in a slow, careful rhythm as Tony fell apart underneath him.

"So good Bruce." And his name on Tony's lips went straight to Bruce's core. He bucked hard, interrupting his patient rhythm, and Tony gasped and pushed back. "FuckBrucepleasemore."

And Bruce gave it to him. He pounded into Tony fast and hard, until the other man's begging was replaced with a string of almost unintelligible curses. Bruce had to use every fiber of his considerable will to keep his thrusts even, to keep his mind just detached enough to deny himself the release his body screamed for.

_The other guy. The Abomination. The Helicarrier._ OK, he was back. Still diamond hard, but not quite over the edge yet. 

He moved one hand from Tony's hips and placed it firmly on Tony's prick, and Tony fucking _keened_ and his hips bucked desperately, his need for release clear in the frantic motion. An instant later he was spilling in hot spurts, and gasping out ragged sobs of pleasure.

Bruce slowed his thrusts, but Tony gave a little whimper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Want you to--” he gasped for air “--take me.”

And somehow, after everything else, it was those two little words that shattered the final remnants of Bruce’s self control. 

He ploughed into Tony with fast, brutal strokes. Everything was forgotten except that tight heat and the sound of Tony’s hoarse moans underneath him. Tony writhed, positioning himself for best effect, but Bruce barely noticed. He was so close, and this time there was no way he was going to pull himself back from the edge for anything. It was too good, too sweet, too much.

And then his cock was pulsing and Bruce felt every iota of tension rush out of his body. He slumped against Tony in boneless pleasure. He only barely noticed Tony’s gasps, and his low hum of satisfaction as the two of them collapsed on doubly stained sheets.

Bruce must have pulled out, must have repositioned the both of them to reasonably comfortable spots on the narrow cot. But all he remembered before he drifted into sleep were Tony’s words.

“Don’t leave.”

He didn’t.

***

Some time later a discreet cough over the com system woke him. He was still wearing all his clothes, though his pants were bunched down around his thighs and his shirt was unbuttoned. He quietly righted his clothes and surveyed Tony’s. The other man was naked from the waist down, his arc reactor glowing from behind the thin blue fabric of his shirt.

OK, so it wasn’t just an especially vivid dream, then. _Shit_

Bruce reached for a blanket on the cot, awkwardly folding it over to cover Tony.

Pym’s voice spoke over the intercom; apparently he’d been waiting for Bruce to attend to their modesty. As if his _cock_ was really what Bruce wanted to hide at that moment.

“Vitals have returned to normal. No remaining indications of contamination. In spite of breaking quarantine,” and maybe there was some reproach in Pym’s voice right there, “you appear not to have been affected, Dr. Banner. You are both free to leave when you feel recovered.”

Bruce paused for a moment. “What were your findings?”

Pym rattled off a list of chemical components--useful information, but not what Bruce most needed, and maybe least wanted, to know.

“And the course of the effects?”

“Purely temporary. In simulations, subjects all recovered, though somewhat faster for those who received... treatment.” It was just possible that Pym was trying not to laugh at that last. “Don’t worry, Stark will be fine.”

_Purely temporary._ Bruce flinched.

Either the motion or the conversation must have woken Tony, who rubbed his eyes and looked up at Bruce.

“Uh, not that I’m complaining, but why are we--?” Tony didn’t finish the question, instead gesturing vaguely to the two of them. Before Bruce could even begin to formulate an answer, Tony registered the room they were in and its obvious purpose. “And what’s with the observation room? For the record, I _am_ complaining about that.”

Bruce fought back a wave of nausea. "You don’t... remember?"

Tony's face finally registered alarm. "This isn't just a hangover." It was almost a question.

But Bruce couldn't answer, couldn’t even breathe.

There’d been a part of him, before, that had felt that surely some part of Tony was really there for what they’d done. That, yeah, it wasn’t exactly right, but it wasn’t really-- He couldn’t even finish the sentence. And even if it had been... that, he’d thought it was necessary. Or at least that it might have been.

And there went his final illusions about the whole thing, and Bruce had no choice but to remember it with clear eyes.

He barely made it out of the room before the retching started.

 

Bruce returned to Stark Tower with Natasha because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, and as little reason as he had to trust himself there, he had less reason to trust himself wandering the streets in this state of mind.

He couldn’t meet Natasha’s eyes, couldn’t speak, but mercifully she didn’t try to make him.

Bruce had a lot of experience with days like the one that followed. He didn’t leave the room, didn’t eat, barely slept. This wasn’t the worst thing he’d done, not by a long shot. But then, this time it hadn’t been the other guy. It had been all him.

Natasha knocked once, and Steve tried three times before they gave up and left him to his thoughts.

It was nearly midnight and he was still wide awake when another knock came, and this time he couldn’t refuse it.

Tony looked much better--eyes tired but not red, skin its usual complexion, scrubs replaced with his usual t-shirt and jeans.

Neither spoke for a moment. Bruce looked down at his hands, unable to meet Tony’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t--” he stopped, not sure what he even meant to say. “I’m just sorry. And I can go. I just need to figure out where, but I can do it fast, be gone by tomorrow.”

Tony placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce dared to look up at him.

“You’re not going anywhere if I have anything to say about it.”

Hope surged through Bruce’s chest, but he quickly tamped it down. “You know what I did?”

“Yep." His tone was grim, but there was no anger in his expression. "Been there, got the surveillance feed.”

Bruce had to look away again. “You were out of your mind on that chemical. And I--”

“Bruce, look at me.” Tony cupped Bruce’s face and turned it towards him before dropping his hands back to his sides. His eyes fixed on Bruce’s and this time Bruce didn’t hide from his gaze. “You _made the right call_.”

Bruce just shook his head.

“I watched the video--the whole video and all the records. You had the information you had, and you made the right decision with it.” Tony gave a short little laugh, without much humor in it. “I’d be a hell of a lot more pissed if you _hadn’t_ been willing to fuck me to save my life.”

Bruce’s lips turned upwards in a bitter facsimile of a smile. “If you watched the video, you know it wasn’t exactly altruistic.”

“So you enjoyed yourself. Only natural--I’m very good.” Tony smirked. “And so, by the looks of it, are you,” he added in a more lascivious tone.

But Bruce was miles from any place where he could feel OK about this. “I was enjoying myself when you were--”

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice turned serious again. “Circumstances were crappy, I admit. Not exactly what I’d hoped for our first time.” Before Bruce could process that, Tony was continuing. “Actually, it’s a lot like what I’d hoped. I just wish I’d been sober enough to enjoy it. Or, well, to remember enjoying it. Because obviously on some level I enjoyed it quite a lot.” Tony sat down next to Bruce. “And yeah, the memory loss thing is weird, and the whole thing is pretty fucked up." He paused before he spoke again, his final words coming out in a rush. "But I’d hate it if it ruined my chance with you.”

Bruce just stared. Really just stared. He didn’t breathe, and maybe his heart kept beating and all, but he definitely couldn’t swear to it.

“I’d hate that too,” he finally managed to answer, and Tony’s smile was more than enough to get his heart and lungs and other parts working again.

There was a long silence between them.

“This... isn’t going to be that easy to get past.”

Tony ducked his head. “No.”

Another pause, longer than the first.

“Give it a shot?” Tony finally asked.

Bruce grasped Tony’s knee and almost flinched away. But didn’t. “Yes,” he managed. “Oh yes.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [and what was found there](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266634) by [Zekkass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass)




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